Sorry, I've been having some innuendo moments (extended over several
chapters) but it was all in good fun. We can't just have the plot be
introduced BOOM like that, now can we? Our good fellows have been up to
more than nothing, now, and I wanted to give the possibility of a Commodore
Norrington side story. I call it "The Mini Adventure of Commodore
Norrington". Isn't that spiffy? Well, at the end of this chapter, the plot
is finally mentioned.
3 A Short Note on the Panoply of a Pirate
Feet on the table in the room, Jack examined his plunder. Once he saw a ship to loot, it would be looted. At the combined force of sword- and gun- point, he had swaged Norrington for all he was worth. Jack was pleased that, when he finally managed to haul himself back on to the deck of his ship, his crew had swarmed the Daystar and had detained all of the men aboard.
As they were deciding exactly how to avenge their captain, the said captain then strolled up behind them and asked how things were coming. Norrington's reaction was absolutely priceless, and the look on his face was one that Jack would never forget. The fellow had gone white as a sheet and just stared with deer-eyes, mouth slightly open.
'I shot you!' He protested in disbelief.
'No,' Jack had replied, fingering the tear on the shoulder of his shirt where the bullet had grazed him. 'You damn well could have, though.'
As Norrington struggled with several long vowel sounds, Jack wrung out the dangling bit of the cloth around his waist and emptied his scabbard of water. Jack had swum under the keel of his ship after going under, because Norrington kept shooting at him. The fellow seemed to have "trigger-happy" engraved in his personality- or at least, "kill pirate now", but probably just "die Jack Sparrow".
So there Jack sat, slowly drying and crusting over with an invisible layer of salt. He was used to it, though, for he certainly had fallen into the water enough. After about an hour, most of the water had dried, and he flaked white, powdery salt for the rest of the day. His shirt would get all hard, like it had been starched (though it wouldn't be any whiter), salt in his boots would be gritty, and he'd have to tend to his sword again so it wouldn't rust, because, he thought firmly to himself, it really was a crummy sword. But his saber had got him through every ordeal in good shape, and his clothes were that of a pirate.
And, contrary to popular belief, the majority of the clothes weren't just to..... distinguish themselves from, well, everyone else. They were right perfect for sailing, they just weren't as stuffy as the naval uniforms that other oft-sea goers used. The bandana, as well as being rather fashionable in his humble opinion (alright, perhaps not that humble.....), kept hair from blowing into one's face. Those in the navy tended to tie hair back or cut it short, but why hide so many years of growing power behind ones head, or even more unspeakable, why would one cut it off entirely? Also, since one tended to perspire in the humid sea weather, it made certain that sweat stung no one's eyes, at least, no one who was wearing a bandana properly. The belt has very obvious uses, aside from those the common folk of the navy used. Uses such as whacking around pesky seagulls to fend off cabin fever. As a plus, it held up his sword.
Cummerbunds were an option, and though many of his..... profession chose to wear such things, he found that he couldn't really think of any other cummerbund uses other than "Oi, I got's me a pretty silk thing that goes 'round me middle and does nothing but look pretty.", but he tended to wear half of a bed sheet tied around his waist underneath his belt. He couldn't recall where he got it anymore, but he felt strangely cold without it on. Occasionally he mused, while fiddling with the frayed edges, about getting another for it was not half a sheet anymore, it was about a third of one.
Then of course, there was the hat, who had a sole, but very important purpose; to make him look cool. Oh, well, maybe it kept the sun out of his eyes, too, and the rain, but hats generally don't stand up too well when it comes to wind. Hats like the wind, or rather they like the wind better than his head.
White shirts were common, but like everything, except the navy of course, they came in all sorts of colours. White was popular because white goes with everything. That is, until they go off-white, and then grayish, and then a shade of brown that he couldn't quite put a name to, though BO was the first thing to cross his mind when he saw that particular colour. And then one gets a new shirt. The poofier the better, as, one doesn't want anything clingy in humidity. The two properties simply do not mix.
Boots were always the best addition other than the hat, the classic puss-in- boots boots with the knees folded down over the shins. This had a purpose, like all real clothing; it kept out water much better. No matter what the material or colour (except perhaps pink), good suede, leather, or sometimes tarpaulin oiled boots were a necessity. He couldn't quite explain how the folded down knees kept more stuff out, maybe it had something to do with the way the material changed angles..... alright, he just didn't really care, all he cared was that it worked, and, once more, that it made him look good.
To finish the appearance, black tights were appealing. And why not? A man can show of his goods if he wants to.
Excellent.
Tearing himself away from his thoughts and his loot, he went to oversee the goings-on on deck. Various barrels of food and supplies and alcohol were being rolled to hatches to be lowered into the cargo bay area. About a half a dozen crewmen were working on folding the Daystar's sails to be put away as well.
Once the Daystar, which Jack soon learned was actually called the Show Boat, was under his control, he decided to let the whole crew live to tell a merry tale when they got back to port. If they ever did, of course, for he took absolutely everything they had that wouldn't reveal anything too..... embarrassing, including the sails. The crew wondered what other use the sails could have other than simply leaving the Daystar/Show Boat stranded. It was a fairly uncommon occurrence to steal a ship's sails without good reason.
'Cap'n, er..... why exactly are we keeping these sails?'
Jack gave the crewman a sidelong look and said, 'We have the sails of a standard ship, just like all the other boats in all the other ports.'
The crewman, and the others listening, took a moment to digest this informative hint as they stood like clueless seals before Gibbs finally caught on. 'Ah! If the Pearl wears 'em, she'll be virtually invisible!'
'Aye,' Jack looked up to the mast of the Pearl with a frown. 'But she's so bonny the way she is.' He sighed. 'Once Daystar's out o' sight, wait for the wind to die and we'll put up her sails on the Black Pearl. We're bound for Port Royal.'
The crew went about the business of stashing the booty from the Daystar until it could be properly put with the rest of the Pearl's successful plundering.
Jack stood away from the helm once he reached the top of the quarterdeck, looking it over and thinking about something that obviously wasn't the potential of their next swaging, or the sudden increase in the amount of rum due to their previous one, for he looked upon the helm with a hard-set expression. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to loosen them a bit, and meandered around the quarterdeck in a somewhat ducky manner. When he stopped, he was at the aft-larboard railing where he saw the sun melting into the ocean in a show of slow fireworks and plays of light. 'William Turner, my friend, what have you been doing?'
He turned and looked down the ship towards the prow and he walked back up to the helm. 'Pearl's missed ye. And she wants her cannon back.'
3 A Short Note on the Panoply of a Pirate
Feet on the table in the room, Jack examined his plunder. Once he saw a ship to loot, it would be looted. At the combined force of sword- and gun- point, he had swaged Norrington for all he was worth. Jack was pleased that, when he finally managed to haul himself back on to the deck of his ship, his crew had swarmed the Daystar and had detained all of the men aboard.
As they were deciding exactly how to avenge their captain, the said captain then strolled up behind them and asked how things were coming. Norrington's reaction was absolutely priceless, and the look on his face was one that Jack would never forget. The fellow had gone white as a sheet and just stared with deer-eyes, mouth slightly open.
'I shot you!' He protested in disbelief.
'No,' Jack had replied, fingering the tear on the shoulder of his shirt where the bullet had grazed him. 'You damn well could have, though.'
As Norrington struggled with several long vowel sounds, Jack wrung out the dangling bit of the cloth around his waist and emptied his scabbard of water. Jack had swum under the keel of his ship after going under, because Norrington kept shooting at him. The fellow seemed to have "trigger-happy" engraved in his personality- or at least, "kill pirate now", but probably just "die Jack Sparrow".
So there Jack sat, slowly drying and crusting over with an invisible layer of salt. He was used to it, though, for he certainly had fallen into the water enough. After about an hour, most of the water had dried, and he flaked white, powdery salt for the rest of the day. His shirt would get all hard, like it had been starched (though it wouldn't be any whiter), salt in his boots would be gritty, and he'd have to tend to his sword again so it wouldn't rust, because, he thought firmly to himself, it really was a crummy sword. But his saber had got him through every ordeal in good shape, and his clothes were that of a pirate.
And, contrary to popular belief, the majority of the clothes weren't just to..... distinguish themselves from, well, everyone else. They were right perfect for sailing, they just weren't as stuffy as the naval uniforms that other oft-sea goers used. The bandana, as well as being rather fashionable in his humble opinion (alright, perhaps not that humble.....), kept hair from blowing into one's face. Those in the navy tended to tie hair back or cut it short, but why hide so many years of growing power behind ones head, or even more unspeakable, why would one cut it off entirely? Also, since one tended to perspire in the humid sea weather, it made certain that sweat stung no one's eyes, at least, no one who was wearing a bandana properly. The belt has very obvious uses, aside from those the common folk of the navy used. Uses such as whacking around pesky seagulls to fend off cabin fever. As a plus, it held up his sword.
Cummerbunds were an option, and though many of his..... profession chose to wear such things, he found that he couldn't really think of any other cummerbund uses other than "Oi, I got's me a pretty silk thing that goes 'round me middle and does nothing but look pretty.", but he tended to wear half of a bed sheet tied around his waist underneath his belt. He couldn't recall where he got it anymore, but he felt strangely cold without it on. Occasionally he mused, while fiddling with the frayed edges, about getting another for it was not half a sheet anymore, it was about a third of one.
Then of course, there was the hat, who had a sole, but very important purpose; to make him look cool. Oh, well, maybe it kept the sun out of his eyes, too, and the rain, but hats generally don't stand up too well when it comes to wind. Hats like the wind, or rather they like the wind better than his head.
White shirts were common, but like everything, except the navy of course, they came in all sorts of colours. White was popular because white goes with everything. That is, until they go off-white, and then grayish, and then a shade of brown that he couldn't quite put a name to, though BO was the first thing to cross his mind when he saw that particular colour. And then one gets a new shirt. The poofier the better, as, one doesn't want anything clingy in humidity. The two properties simply do not mix.
Boots were always the best addition other than the hat, the classic puss-in- boots boots with the knees folded down over the shins. This had a purpose, like all real clothing; it kept out water much better. No matter what the material or colour (except perhaps pink), good suede, leather, or sometimes tarpaulin oiled boots were a necessity. He couldn't quite explain how the folded down knees kept more stuff out, maybe it had something to do with the way the material changed angles..... alright, he just didn't really care, all he cared was that it worked, and, once more, that it made him look good.
To finish the appearance, black tights were appealing. And why not? A man can show of his goods if he wants to.
Excellent.
Tearing himself away from his thoughts and his loot, he went to oversee the goings-on on deck. Various barrels of food and supplies and alcohol were being rolled to hatches to be lowered into the cargo bay area. About a half a dozen crewmen were working on folding the Daystar's sails to be put away as well.
Once the Daystar, which Jack soon learned was actually called the Show Boat, was under his control, he decided to let the whole crew live to tell a merry tale when they got back to port. If they ever did, of course, for he took absolutely everything they had that wouldn't reveal anything too..... embarrassing, including the sails. The crew wondered what other use the sails could have other than simply leaving the Daystar/Show Boat stranded. It was a fairly uncommon occurrence to steal a ship's sails without good reason.
'Cap'n, er..... why exactly are we keeping these sails?'
Jack gave the crewman a sidelong look and said, 'We have the sails of a standard ship, just like all the other boats in all the other ports.'
The crewman, and the others listening, took a moment to digest this informative hint as they stood like clueless seals before Gibbs finally caught on. 'Ah! If the Pearl wears 'em, she'll be virtually invisible!'
'Aye,' Jack looked up to the mast of the Pearl with a frown. 'But she's so bonny the way she is.' He sighed. 'Once Daystar's out o' sight, wait for the wind to die and we'll put up her sails on the Black Pearl. We're bound for Port Royal.'
The crew went about the business of stashing the booty from the Daystar until it could be properly put with the rest of the Pearl's successful plundering.
Jack stood away from the helm once he reached the top of the quarterdeck, looking it over and thinking about something that obviously wasn't the potential of their next swaging, or the sudden increase in the amount of rum due to their previous one, for he looked upon the helm with a hard-set expression. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to loosen them a bit, and meandered around the quarterdeck in a somewhat ducky manner. When he stopped, he was at the aft-larboard railing where he saw the sun melting into the ocean in a show of slow fireworks and plays of light. 'William Turner, my friend, what have you been doing?'
He turned and looked down the ship towards the prow and he walked back up to the helm. 'Pearl's missed ye. And she wants her cannon back.'
